


Vignette Folio

by sylviaviridian



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 14,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviaviridian/pseuds/sylviaviridian
Summary: My collection of prompt fills for FFXIV Write 2020.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21
Collections: Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Crux

**Author's Note:**

> Fills originally posted day by day on my tumblr, [over here](https://ecosystem-administrator.tumblr.com/).

The problem was Minfilia, and that was a problem that couldn't be solved.

Not the girl who bore her name - although she  _ was _ also Minfilia, Urianger had mentally taken to calling her simply 'the girl', unwilling in his heart to force upon her the burden she'd been taught so long to carry. No, the problem was their Minfilia, Minfilia of the Source, the one he'd sent to this foreign world with no way to know the further problems he was causing.

He watched her, time and again, drown childish impulse in the mask of the Oracle, and wished he had the words to tell her that wasn't what any of them had wanted, without somehow making her feel worse.

He watched Thancred torn by the need to keep a careful distance, pained by the memory of what she was and the knowledge of what she wasn't, terrified to allow her too close when she might not stay, or to push her away so far that she gave in to what she thought he wanted of her.

(Urianger wasn't really sure what Thancred wanted of her, but that was all right: he was fairly certain Thancred didn't know, either.)

The problem was that Minfilia wasn't here, and yet was all too present, her ghost haunting every breath of conversation that passed between the girl and Thancred. Urianger could see it, but there was nothing he could do to fix it except to provide them both a space, a buffer between one another's jagged hurts.

The turning point would come, he knew, sooner or later. Until then, he would help them keep their careful balance. It was the least he could do in reparation.


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the tilting deck of an airship toward Coerthas, Ardbert and Urianger take each other's measure.

The wind had picked up since the airship had crossed into Coerthas, and the deck tilted slightly under Urianger's feet in the fiercer gusts. He was glad for the goggles of his customary outfit, which he'd changed back into in anticipation of meeting with the Warrior once they reached Ishgard.

Or rather, once the ship did. The man leaning on the railing nearby would be debarking at a discreet stop along the way, as would his companions. Arbert turned to acknowledge his approach, watching him with the same not-quite-friendly air he'd had since they met.

"So." He nodded to the coastline passing below them. "We continue up north, and the pilot will stop to drop us off at the edge of the snows, so we can head into the mountains after this primal. Meanwhile, you'll go on to Ishgard and make sure your friend doesn't suspect anything amiss."

"Just so," Urianger confirmed evenly, with a nod. "I have news enough of Eorzea to convey, and aid to offer in their struggle against the archbishop; there shall be naught to raise their suspicions as to any ulterior motives for my travel." Indeed, the auracite in his pack would doubtless prove a vital enough tool that no one could second-guess his reasons - but he wasn't about to admit aloud to carrying a weapon for battling Ascians.

Arbert nodded back, half-turning back to the view over the rail, sidelong gaze still cast over Urianger's inscrutable features. "...And you're okay with that. Not about to give in to sentiment and run back to your friends?"

Urianger had seen his camaraderie with his traveling companions, could hear the subtle accusation under his words: _Traitor. How can you look them in the eye?_ "I know little of the path thou hast walked, but surely there are those who would look askance at thy choice of masters, as well," he answered the accusation rather than the words spoken.

Arbert snorted derisively, and now he did look away. "You don't know anything. They'd already turned from us before we came to this pass, and rightly so. ...We're all we have left, now, so spare me."

"...Mine apologies, truly." He sighed, and shook his head, stepping a little closer to the rail. "...Each of us hath our reasons for presence here. For the moment, the Ascian's methods suit our needs. None upon this star possess his breadth of knowledge of the Shards, the very structure of the cosmos within which we dwell. Neither thee nor I could have progressed to this point without his guidance."

"So we're just a stepping stone in each other's journeys," Arbert sighed. "...And your friends, too? They're just pawns?"

"We are all pawns in their game, myself included," Urianger replied, somewhat evasively. "...I would not see thy world ended, nor the balance between Source and Shards further undone. Thou hast already made great sacrifices to ensure the cosmic balance is maintained; wherefore wouldst thou believe others unwilling to walk that path beside thee?"

"When you put it like that…" Arbert shrugged, and turned to regard him more directly, a little more warmth in his gaze than before. "...I don't half understand you, but...I guess I'm glad you're on our side."

Urianger smiled at him, grateful that he didn't need to go to more work to conceal his true expressions at the moment. It was a dangerous line he walked, indeed - but for his true plan to come to fruition, he would need enough influence over Arbert to pull them all free of Elidibus' grip when the time came. Today's success would be the foothold that led them all to freedom...assuming a great many other things also went as planned, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I called him Arbert throughout this fill. That's the name Urianger knows him by at this point in time. I did it on purpose, I promise.


	3. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the base of Mt. Gulg, Alphinaud talks to the Warrior of Light about their state of mind.

Everything was in motion. Alphinaud had already expended what aether he could spare in helping set up the ley infrastructure for the giant Talos, and ceded his position to one of the Night's Blessed mages once he was done. There was nothing else but to let all the people they'd brought together do their work until it was finished.

With no more responsibility in the construction, his thoughts turned instead toward his friends and their condition...and one in particular. He scanned the crowd and soon caught sight of Mayhem, perched on a rock and watching the gathered workers with great interest. To his surprise, despite the gravity of their situation and the Warrior of Darkness' tenuous physical condition, their silver eyes were practically glowing with delight, tail swaying behind them jubilantly.

They grinned brightly at him as he approached. "Look at them all," they murmured in satisfaction. "Coming together to create something this huge and intricate...isn't it wonderful?"

"It is," Alphinaud agreed with a smile, following their gaze. "...And I'm pleased to see you in high spirits as well, my friend."

Silver eyes turned toward Alphinaud, and he found himself the subject of a keen gaze that he'd long since grown past finding discomfiting. "You were afraid I'd be overcome with melancholy, lamenting my uncertain mortality, something along those lines?"

"More or less," he agreed. There was no sense in hiding things from Mayhem - their ability to read people's motives was downright uncanny, to the point where he sometimes wondered if it was a passive effect of their Echo. "I think I have the right to be concerned, all things considered."

Mayhem smiled at him warmly, fondly. ""You do, and I'm grateful," they answered. "...But I'm all right. I mean...I'm terrified, of course. I can feel the Light trying to crystallize my body, I have no idea what's going to happen once we go up there, and I absolutely don't want to die. ...Even so, I'm thrilled at what we've accomplished here." They gestured toward the workers, half a dozen different cultures visible between garb and races. "The ending of the story matters, of course it does, but no matter how it ends, it's the best we've ever done. I knew what I was doing when I started this time, so I managed to get it right."

Alphinaud tilted his head. "You've lost me," he admitted. "What do you mean, you managed to get it right?"

A wry grin. "When I started adventuring, I was just in it for the attention and the chance to learn things, you know. I turned out to be pretty good with a bow, and the more I showed off, the more I got commended for it. I wanted to see how far I could go, how good I could get, and...well, I wanted to have fun. The world around me is more fun the more people are smiling, so I did what I could to make people smile, but ultimately what I wanted was to entertain myself with learning their stories, helping them unfold. ...I didn't give any thought to the story I was becoming." They shook their head, silver gaze now going distant and a little sad with memory. "...You remember how you found me, after the attack on the Waking Sands?"

He nodded. "...I remember thinking that you weren't what I expected. I thought you would be angry, vengeful even, but you just seemed...lost."

"That's about the shape of it," they agreed. "I didn't...it seemed useless to be angry at the Imperials for doing what Imperials always do, I guess. But there I was, the last known survivor of a group working for the good of the realm, and suddenly I wasn't just a wandering storyteller interested in putting together everyone else's lives. Suddenly, I had to be the hero of a story myself. ...I picked up the role as well as I could, but I tried to put it down once everyone was safe. To speed my way into being a former hero, a one-off, someone who had accomplished one great task and was ready to pass on a legacy."

"And then the banquet happened," Alphinaud murmured.

Mayhem nodded. "...That was the start of it, of course. Even then...in some ways, having to go into hiding was a blessing. I could pretend that we were just supporting the real heroes, try to go back to just being a storyteller guiding the fraught paths of those around us. The Knight-Commander and the Azure Dragoon, the noble Iceheart and…" They shook their head, cutting off abruptly. "...it was a good story. It would have been a good story if it was just theirs. I thought that was good enough. ...Sometimes I wonder, if I'd stepped up and tried to _be_ a hero before he called me one that day...could I have changed how his story ended?"

Alphinaud didn't need to ask who they meant; Haurchefant's death had hit Mayhem hardest of all. He hadn't been paying much attention to the exact nature of the bond between them, but looking back, he was fairly sure that they'd been lovers, even. "It wasn't your fault," he answered softly.

"I know." They sighed. "Twelve know he'd hate to think I blamed myself for anything, and it probably wouldn't have changed how things came out. ...But what I mean is, it took me that long to finally realize and accept that I'm in this hero thing for life. All that time around the city-states, I wasn't thinking about what I was doing at all. If I had been, maybe we could have more like this at home." They gestured again to the people still diligently toiling away at putting a giant Talos together. "But I got it right this time: I went in meaning to be a hero to them from the start. A hero is just a regular person who decides to do what they can do best, in a way that helps everyone, because they're chasing a vision of a better world they want to live in. ...If you show people that kind of hero, of course they get inspired to try it for themselves, to be the best they can be, too. I figured out how to do it on purpose, and this is the result."

"...I think I understand," Alphinaud agreed with a smile. "So no matter what happens next…"

"This is already a great story," Mayhem concluded. "I don't regret anything I've done here, and I'm ready to keep trying my hardest. Isn't that the best anyone can hope for?"


	4. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred has been avoiding Minfilia, and she’s worried he’s overworking himself. Papalymo has an idea for how she can corner him.

Minfilia sighed. For weeks now, she'd barely had a chance to speak to Thancred. He always seemed to have the perfect excuse for why he couldn't stay to talk. It was obvious he was avoiding her, but his Sharlayan subterfuge training had served him well; for all her diplomacy, she couldn't talk her way through his charms.

That didn't mean she didn't understand what was going on, though. He'd been working himself to the bone for months, taking on more missions than anyone should be able to handle, and after their newest recruit's experience with Ifrit, his efforts had only redoubled. By now, he had to be stressed to the point of collapse, and he knew she knew it, and he knew if she got a chance to corner him properly, he'd have no choice but to allow her to worry over him. "Impossible man," she sighed to her paperwork.

"Some petitioner troubling you, Antecedent?" Papalymo piped up from the doorway, and Minfilia started slightly at the sound of his voice. "If the Syndicate is being trouble again, I daresay we can find a way around their demands, especially with the leverage we've gained lately."

"A more personal matter, I'm afraid," she answered him with a tired smile. Papalymo's scholarly mind was always quick to begin piecing together the steps to solving any problem, and she appreciated his ability to lay out achievable goals one by one until it seemed like nothing was ever too far out of reach. "Have you spoken much to Thancred, lately?"

"Not much," Papalymo admitted. "He does seem distracted, doesn't he? ...I assume he's pushing himself too hard again."

"We've barely spoken a dozen sentences to each other in weeks," Minfilia confided. "...I don't want to compel him to anything, but I'm truly worried about his health at this rate."

Papalymo wandered around the front of her desk, and pulled himself up onto the chair she kept beside it specifically for Lalafells to be more comfortable with face to face conversations. "You're concerned he'd resent you if you tried to keep him at home for his own good?"

"And that it wouldn't actually help." She shook her head. "He's so stubborn! I can't very well lock him in, and even if I persuade him to stay home for a week or two, he'll just...stay up all night helping Urianger with research, or 'make himself useful' cleaning the places Tataru has trouble reaching until the Waking Sands is spotless… How do you force a man to learn how to relax?"

Papalymo chuckled. "Ah, but you're not using all the tools at your disposal." At Minfilia's questioning look, he elaborated. "You've spent a lot of time establishing yourself as the Antecedent, and making sure everyone sees you as worth of the respect due your role. That's good and necessary, but it's not what you need for dealing with Thancred. The whole reason you're hesitating to act is because no matter what your position is now, you can't just ignore the history between you, right?"

"Well, yes, but…" She frowned. "I'm not going to manipulate him by playing the helpless girl again. He'd see through that even if I wanted to try."

"Nothing of the sort!" Papalymo assured her. "...All you need to do is ask him how he thinks you should deal with someone who's doing what he's doing. The minute he hears you're worried about someone, and that you need help with a problem that involves talking to people, how can he do anything but jump at the chance to offer his advice?"

Minfilia grinned at him, understanding. "And then as soon as I have it, I turn it right around back on him. The one thing he can't possibly argue with is his very own words." She giggled. "It's perfect."

Papalymo smiled back at her. "Just so! You'll have him right where you want him - and he'll get the break he won't admit he needs."

"Thank you, Papalymo," she replied sincerely. "I'll speak with him the next time he returns. Now, was there anything you wanted?"

"Well, with our warrior friend haring off across the realm in search of a way to face Titan, I thought it would be a good time to look a little closer at some of the Ixal's movements." He pulled out a map to lay across the desk. "Starting over here in the Twelveswood…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My pet theory is that Lahabrea isn't _that_ great an actor, but rather that "Thancred is acting weird and avoiding people" _usually_ means "Thancred is upset and compensating by overworking himself", and no one quite figured out the real truth in time.


	5. Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marques, the amnesiac rescued from Carteneau, reflects on what he does and doesn’t know about where he came from.

Marques didn't know much about himself, but he knew that he was a man who believed in what he could see. He worked hard for the Church of Saint Adama Landama every day, not because he believed in their gods, but because he owed them a debt he could never repay, a debt that in many ways grew deeper every day he remained in their care, although he knew they didn't see it that way.

The truths ticked through his mind again as he made his way between the gravestones.

Truth 1: he was a native of the Garlean Empire, clearly indicated as such by the pearl of a third eye in the center of his forehead. He shuffled past a pair of mourners, and tugged his hood down self-consciously as he did, to ensure it was concealed. They didn't deserve to have their grief interrupted by the fear of an enemy in their midst.

Truth 2: the Empire was the enemy of these people. Here in Eorzea, it was spoken of in whispered fear or vicious anger. The conquerors, the tide of steel warmachina ready at any moment to make another attempt at sweeping down across the land. His people were reviled, and rightly so.

Truth 3: he lifted his head, once he'd climbed the hill to a secluded place a little way from any mourners, and surveyed the rows upon rows of gravestones. There were more added every day, of course, but the vast majority were five years old - dug in the immediate aftermath of the Calamity, filled with bodies from the battlefield he'd crawled away from. He didn't know how many he might have been responsible for, but the knowledge of who he must have been haunted him.

The priests at the church tried to reassure him, to tell him that without his memory, there was no way to be sure who he'd been or what he'd done. But Marques was a man of facts, that much he knew about himself, and the picture painted by the facts was a grim one. Turning from it toward a pleasant illusion would have been a comfort that, realistically, he probably didn't deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever thought about how fucked up it would be to spend five years believing you used to be a soldier for an evil empire, tending the graves of people you killed as penance, only to find out later it was never true at all? How do you process that kind of trauma? Or do you push it aside and pick up your old life and try to forget sad, sorry Marques?


	6. Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y’shtola wants to visit her master, but Krile insists she bring company. Urianger gets caught in the crossfire.

"You're not going alone. As your healer, I absolutely forbid it."

Curiosity piqued, Urianger sauntered around the corner, eyes focused on the book in his hands as though he hadn't been listening, and glanced up at Krile and Y'shtola as he approached.

From the looks on their faces, neither was particularly fooled by his pretense, but he forged onward regardless. "Prithee tell, whence this disagreement? Is aught amiss?"

"I have been curious as to the nature of our journey to the First since we were pulled there," Y'shtola explained. "Since Krile was able to use Master Matoya's Crystal Eye to trace the path of our aether until it vanished, I hoped perhaps some clues might yet remain at the end of that trail which would further illuminate the details of that magic. Obviously, time is of the essence in such an endeavor, as the trail has already had more time to fade than I would like, and I will not continue waiting for it to diminish. If my condition is stable enough to cast spells, it is stable enough to use aetherytes."

Through this speech, Krile's eyes had narrowed, and she glanced between the two of them. "I will not hear of you going alone," she repeated. "But if Urianger will go _with_ you...well, the chances of you _both_ passing out somewhere are much slimmer."

Urianger blinked, unsettled by the way both their gazes had turned upon him. "Thou wishest my accompaniment...to visit Master Matoya?" he confirmed, trying not to look too badly dismayed or intimidated.

"Is something wrong with that?" Krile asked sweetly, and he realized she already knew.

" _He's_ been afraid of her since he was a boy," Y'shtola confirmed, mirth barely restrained in her voice.

Urianger straightened to his full height, reminding himself that he towered over both of them and it was deeply unbecoming to feel as though he were somehow a rabbit facing down wolves. "I have the utmost respect for Master Matoya and her skills," he responded archly. "I should be happy to accompany thee on thy journey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please imagine Urianger at thirteen or fourteen, trying to look inconspicuous standing behind Louisoix as his master argues with Matoya.


	7. Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bardic Warrior of Light's thoughts on sound and silence.

Mayhem had always liked noise. People-noise, specifically, but anything would do in a pinch. Silence was the most unnerving thing they knew; silence filled their worst dreams.

They weren't sure why. It was something that had been with them since childhood at least - they could remember getting water in their ears as a young thing, and weeping in panic at the muffling of sound until it had cleared. This seemed like more than just an incidental dislike, but if there was a reason for the fear, it was lost to the mists of memory.

Still, when they woke to a quiet room, although they knew it was a courtesy to be left in peace, they always hummed some song to themself to fill the silence, until they were presentable enough to be seen among people. And they did their best work sitting off to the side of a busy common room, or on a rooftop overlooking the city.

That was the nice thing about cities - even an adventuring post like Revenant's Toll was never completely asleep, and larger cities carried on at all hours. There was always life, eager and messy and insistent, thrumming through the streets like blood in veins. Mayhem liked city noise the best of all.

(It was extremely disconcerting, to walk the full streets of a near-silent city at the bottom of the ocean, and feel a strange overwhelming grief instead of the panic they expected.)


	8. Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem is looking for opinions on the Alliance’s campaign against the Empire, and goes back to visit an old acquaintance.

Half-lost in thought, Mayhem made their way through the La Noscean jungle south of Wineport. Though wild, the area was close enough to civilization that most true threats had long-since been driven away; slipping past the odd coeurl or gigantoad on their way to their destination was hardly an effort.

Their feet splashed over the marshy ground as they drew close to the little hut, and they didn't bother concealing the sound of their footsteps, knowing it was better not to sneak up on this particular individual anyway. As they rounded the final corner, they could see him sitting out on his porch, working at a hide: Drest, the Imperial deserter who lived far away from the accusing eyes of civilization, ever attempting through trade to save up enough to return home. He looked up toward the sound of Mayhem's footsteps as they drew near, gaze tired but clear for once.

Looked like today was a good day. Mayhem smiled at him, and lifted the bottle they carried. "I brought wine," they said. "Want to take a break?"

Drest smiled faintly, brow furrowing anxiously, but nodded and set aside his work. "May as well, I guess," he said. "What brings you all the way out here?"

"Something I want to run by you," they admitted, a little sheepishly. "...But first I want your opinion on this wine."

It wasn't _great_ wine, they both concluded by the time they'd finished a cup each, the vessels fashioned by Drest from coconut shells, but it wasn't bad, either.

"We freed Ala Mhigo," Mayhem explained, now that both of them were relaxed enough from the drink to loosen tongues. "Doma, too. The fight's not over yet, but with Zenos off the field, we're holding steady."

"Yeah?" Drest answered. "...Sounds good, I guess. Be nice if you could get some other places back, too, huh?"

Mayhem nodded. "I think we mean to. I think...the Empire can't just be left like it is. I don't know yet if we'll...take it apart, piece by piece, or if we'll go right for the heart. I'm smart, but I don't know maps and war like the others, I just tell the story so it makes sense after."

"So what're you here asking me about?" The Hyur looked askance at them. "I'm sure not any better at that stuff than the generals and whatnot."

"...When we were taking Ala Mhigo back...Zenos ordered some terrible things. Things that hurt his own side, just to get at us when we were in the same place. ...And for the first time, we found Imperial troops that survived to get away were surrendering. They'd lost the will to fight after their own superiors fired on them." Mayhem shook their head. "Even though I knew better, I'd spent a long time thinking about Imperials as this whole force of nature, all single-minded. But here they were, just people, tired and hurt and confused and ready to talk to. And I thought...maybe we don't have to always be at war." They took a deep breath, cleared their throat. "So I suppose that's what I wanted to talk to you about. If we can find a way to get through...do you, who used to fight among them, think it's worth trying to negotiate with the Imperials? Will the rank and file be able to live peacefully if we deal with their leaders?"

Drest was silent for a long time. "I dunno," he said quietly at last. "The ones from the provinces, probably. Most of them. Some'll be...the really gung-ho kind, the kind that want to prove they're better than where they came from. The rest, the proper Garleans...they're cruel people, you know. Not all of them, but...I think they bring 'em up that way. You might be able to send 'em home, but I dunno if you can stop 'em being mean."

Mayhem nodded, staring into the middle distance. "...Yeah," they murmured. "That's kind of what I figured. It's a place to start, anyway."

"...Why me, though?" Drest asked again. "I mean...I'm glad. That someone like you comes to listen. But don't you know anybody closer?"

"Oh sure," Mayhem agreed. "I've met others who defected from the Empire. Some of them are 'proper Garleans' like you said, even, and they've learned to be decent people. Most of them. Nero tol Scaeva is annoying on purpose as if that's what he's getting paid to be, and I'm not really sure yet what's actually in Gaius' head, but…"

Drest choked on his wine. "Bloody hells! Then why ask someone like me at all, if you know folk like that?!"

Mayhem grinned and patted him on the back to help. "Sorry, I just wanted to see the look on your face. ...I mean to ask everyone I think I can get an answer out of, you included. But I wanted to come to you before any of them, because you were the first one I knew, way back before I was important enough to know important people."

"...Yer really somethin', you know that?" Drest shook his head. "You really think you can do it? Put the Empire in its place proper?"

"I think someone has to, and it might as well be me," they answered. "It _should_ be someone like me, someone who cares enough not to hurt people that can be saved." With a smile that bared their fangs, they added, "But as far as the ones who can't be, well. If you want, I'll write your name on an arrow before I put it through the Emperor's eye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care what you think about the grind toward Titan, for me it was entirely worth it because the Wineport quests gave me so many emotions.


	9. Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louisoix's great work, unraveled

Everything was in place. Rituals prepared, aether redirected in a thousand little ways over the course of the months that he had spent here, ways that would culminate in the surge he needed for this summoning.

Louisoix Leveilleur looked up to the sky, to the red moon so low and burning-bright that he would swear he could feel its heat on his face. Dalamud was in its place, too. As he watched, the surface cracked, and then shattered, fragments scattering wide as Bahamut broke free from his cage.

Lifting his staff, he shielded himself and the adventurers he'd called on for aid from the oncoming blast front, pushing back with all his strength to maintain the barrier despite the incredible searing force. Everything had been for this moment - this was the last stand. If he failed here, Eorzea's destruction would cascade into a destabilization of aether worldwide. Whatever the cost, Bahamut had to be stopped now.

And then it was time: jagged spires of pale aether speared upward into the sky from the places he'd sent his students to pray, to call on the Twelve's assistance for this ritual. He reached out and drew them together, guided them into place one by one, watching with satisfaction as the elements manifested and aligned in perfect unison. The Twelve were with them, their prayers answered, as the vast cage formed around Bahamut and sealed. For one pristine moment, his heart swelled in triumph: Eorzea and its champions had won the day.

The spherical cage in the center of the array glowed brighter, turning from blue-white to reddish, and then shattered, taking the whole construction with it. Years of research, months of careful work and planning, obliterated in a single instant along with all hope. For a staggering moment, he thought it had all been for nothing at all.

But he wasn't one of the foremost scholars in Sharlayan for no reason. Though the seal had been shattered, the aether used to build it was still thick in the air, and he grasped at a new hope, improvising as quickly as he could think. There was little chance he could expend all of the gathered aether on his own, no need to bother conserving the resource now, and he abandoned all restraint as he reached for it.

The first step was to send the adventurers to safety, to ensure that no matter what happened, some future would have a chance of rebuilding. Alone on the ridge then, with Bahamut bearing down on the small creature who had dared defy him, he opened himself entirely to the currents and asked: _what can I still do?_

And the world answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one I might eventually continue, or rewrite entirely.


	10. Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger discovers Alphinaud in the aftermath of a lesson in when to listen rather than talk.

Having noted his absence for some time, Urianger at last discovered Alphinaud sitting in a corner of the common room with a cup of tea. The boy retained most of his usual poise, but to Urianger's familiar gaze he seemed distinctly ruffled and weary.

"I had missed thee for the noonday meal, Master Alphinaud," he said, approaching. "Wert thou feeling unwell?"

"Oh, Urianger! I didn't see you there," Alphinaud answered, perking up slightly. "Nothing of the sort, no...well, not exactly."

"And yet thou seemest weary to mine eyes." Urianger smiled and sat down at the table with him. "Fret not - to those who know thee less well, I doubt anything could be noted amiss. Yet prithee tell, what may be weighing on thy young mind?"

Alphinaud colored and looked away. "'Tis nothing, truly! My own error in judgement, no more."

Urianger waited, head tilted slightly.

Eventually, Alphinaud huffed and relented. "Oh, fine. Since I know better than to believe you'll leave me in peace until you've heard it. ...Mayhem has procured a new instrument, a dulcimer of uncommon quality. As you know, in my education I have encountered them a time or two, and I thought to demonstrate how it should be tuned properly."

Feeling a smile creeping across his lips, Urianger poured himself a cup of tea to sip at in an effort to hide his expression. "Might I surmise that our bardic companion didst take umbrage at thine abrupt attempt to handle a delicate instrument?"

Alphinaud groaned and let his head hang low. "I only wanted to help," he pouted. "...They said since I was so fascinated, I should be happy to learn more, and proceeded to lecture me for bells upon the history and proper usage of the dulcimer. I have only just escaped a short while ago."

"I trust thine education hath been duly furthered," Urianger replied dryly.

"Yes, yes, point made. As if you've never run your mouth ahead of your wits from excitement."

Urianger made a mental note to track down exactly which stories Thancred had been telling the twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Alphinaud like my own child, but honestly.


	11. Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem and Alisaie talk about Zenos.

"You're brooding," Alisaie said, approaching Mayhem and smacking them lightly atop the head with a leaf-wrapped package before handing it over.

Mayhem unwrapped it to discover some rice balls - a welcome snack - and pouted mildly at Alisaie. "I am not brooding," they answered. "I'm thinking."

"Out here alone by yourself, with that gloomy look on your face. _Brooding_ ," Alisaie concluded. She sat down in the grass beside them on the hillside overlooking Namai. "So talk instead. What's weighing so heavily on our grand savior's mind?"

Swallowing a bite of rice ball, Mayhem sighed. "I was thinking about what Zenos said earlier, before you all came to my rescue. ...He said that we were alike, living for the rush and joy of battle."

"Don't tell me you're actually listening to that monster," Alisaie groaned. "I was sure you had more sense than that."

Mayhem laughed. "I do," they promised. "...But I didn't have the words for my argument then, and you _know_ how I hate not having the right words for something. So I wanted to think about it."

"And did you find any words?" Alisaie tilted her head, seeming genuinely curious.

"I think so," Mayhem confirmed with a firm nod. "...There is something similar about us. Going into battle...that's when all the doubt and confusion clears away. When it's just kill or be killed...there is clarity in that. After there are no more chances to get away or talk it out, when it comes down to my life or theirs, that's a simplicity that can't be found anywhere else.

"But clarity isn't the same thing as joy. I don't actually like fighting, you know - that's why I try to talk my way out of everything, until words finally fail. I'm good at fighting, but I don't take joy in it. Joy is for later, when it's over, when the dust clears and people are safe and we have the room to build things. ...And I was just thinking, I feel kind of bad for anyone who doesn't know the difference."


	12. Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a sense of encroaching urgency, Mayhem seeks Aymeric out for comfort. A little spicy, but sfw.

"Good evening, Warrior," the knight guarding Aymeric's tent greeted Mayhem as they approached. "How can I help you tonight?"

"I have urgent news for the Lord Commander," Mayhem explained evenly, glad that Ishgardians didn't seem able to read the involuntary lash of their tail as a sign of less than perfect honesty. Well, it wasn't a lie, but they weren't here to deliver a battlefield report, either. "Is he alone?"

The guard nodded, and stepped aside. "By all means. I cannot imagine he would refuse you even if he were not."

"Thank you." They smiled politely and stepped forward. "Our discussion is likely to take some time, so if there are any non-urgent meetings he had planned, it might be prudent to reschedule them."

"I'll see to it at once, si- er, ma'- er, yes." The guard saluted, flustered in his confusion at the proper form of address, and made his way off toward the rest of the camp.

Chaperone suitably distracted, Mayhem brushed aside the tent flap and entered Aymeric's personal living space, his home away from home for the Ala Mhigan campaign. The man himself was sitting at the portable table he had taken for a desk; when he saw Mayhem enter, his face lit up with delight, and he made to rise. "Mayhem! This is unexpected-"

"Oh, don't get up," Mayhem said airily, waltzing swiftly over to him and instead settling directly in his lap. "I can make myself comfortable."

Aymeric blushed, but didn't object, his arms coming up instead to support his sudden lapful of bard. "You're in fine form today," he answered with amusement, but then his expression shifted; despite Mayhem's blithe smile, he might have caught something in their eyes. "...What's wrong, my love?"

 _My love._ The phrase settled over Mayhem's skin like a soft blanket, and they let their smile fade, leaning into Aymeric's chest a little more. This relationship was still so new, both of them so busy that they'd hardly had time to explore their decision since a hasty confession after the liberation. _My love_ was nice, though. "Alphinaud's gone. Like the others," they murmured. "He's fine, but he's gone." They decided not to bring up just how he'd gotten back to them, not yet. The subject of Gaius' survival could wait until morning.

"I'm sorry." Aymeric leaned down to nuzzle against their ears, and Mayhem took a deep breath, relaxing further. "...Is there something I can do to help?"

"Kiss me," Mayhem murmured, desperate anguish leaking into their voice. "Take me to bed. Before it's too late."

Aymeric's eyes widened at the request, and his brow furrowed. "You're sure? We don't need to rush into-"

"But we do," Mayhem insisted. "We do, because whatever this voice is that's pulling my friends away from me, it wants me too. I don't know when I'm going to go, but it's gotten everyone else that's heard it except for Alisaie. Please, Aymeric…" They stared up into his eyes, silver gaze clear and unblinking, in control despite their distress. "I don't know what happens when it catches up with me, but I know I don't want to regret not having you while I still could."

Holding their gaze, Aymeric paused, visibly thinking, then nodded decisively and leaned down to press a brief kiss to their eager lips. "Tonight it shall be, then," he murmured. "I have a few minor appointments I should put off-"

"I told the guard to do it already," Mayhem smirked, mood lightened a little. "Urgent report for the Lord Commander, no telling how long it'll take. You're all lucky I'm not mean enough to send the knights off on snipe hunts, it would take them forever to catch on."

"You are a menace," Aymeric laughed softly, and then stood up with them still cradled in his arms, striding toward the bed on the other side of the tent. "Then the evening shall be ours alone."


	13. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger learns what his master trusted Minfilia with.

"Thou wished a meeting, Antecedent?" Urianger stepped softly into the Solar. Everyone was treading lightly right now, these scant few days after the Calamity. The entire world seemed raw and uncertain.

From behind her desk, Minfilia nodded, and smiled hesitantly, more a gesture of comfort directed toward him than an expression of any sort of joy. "Yes. Thank you for coming so promptly, Urianger." She cleared her throat, weak smile dropping away. "The others will arrive in due time, but...I wanted you to be the first to hear…" Her gaze dropped as well, to the long, slender object that lay across the desk in front of her, half blending in with the wood.

He hadn't taken the time to look closely enough at it before approaching: now, as he followed her gaze, the bottom dropped from his stomach. It was Tupsimati, broken into two large pieces and several smaller fragments, and the sight made his heart crack similarly. His master's staff, a powerful artifact in its own right and a prized possession as a symbol of the work he'd taken on. Louisoix would not have easily lost his grip on it.

Minfilia was silent, clearly waiting for his reaction, and he swallowed thickly. "Hast thou any word?" he murmured, grasping at hope, mentally cringing backward from the roughness in his own voice. He reached out carefully to touch just his fingertips against the wood, as if to confirm the staff was really there. As if there could be any doubt. "Though a precious possession, 'tis in the end only an object. Hath...aught else been found…?"

"No…" Minfilia answered, and now she was glancing away with a guilty look. "No other traces of his passage have been found, but...the night before, he came and spoke with me. To...to tell me the truth of the ritual he meant to perform." She shook her head. "He was so sure it was the only way, and he wanted someone to know...so that you all wouldn't need to keep looking…"

He could hear the words she wasn't speaking. Urianger knew from his studies that rituals which consumed so much aether all at once could be dangerous to the caster; he had assumed his master had a plan to deal with it, and they'd been too short on time to press for details. Emotions flooded through him one by one. Shock at the depth of this loss. Regret at not having asked enough questions to learn this truth for himself. A gulf of loneliness, to be abandoned in this foreign land by the man who he'd followed here, bereft of the guidance he'd relied on so long.

A touch of frustrated anger toward his master, for trusting this half-stranger before the student who had followed at his heel, quickly burned out into resignation. Of course Louisoix hadn't told him. His master was the kind of person who made his decisions and followed through no matter what anyone said, and the last thing he would have wanted was for their final hours to be filled with arguments and desperate, futile attempts to turn him aside from the path he'd chosen to walk. So he'd kept it a secret. Of course he had.

His goggles were beginning to fog up. Letting his shoulders slump, he pushed them up his forehead to wipe at his eyes. "Thou hast my gratitude," he answered softly. "For carrying my master's final missive. Though we are but lately met, I am glad that he felt able to place his trust in thee."

"Urianger…" Minfilia bit her lip, and moved to place a hand on his arm.

He shook his head quickly, leaning into the touch. "Prithee do not apologize. I know - knew - his ways. This end is entirely in keeping with all that he was." He took a deep breath and released it slowly, clinging to control. "Thou sayest the others will come soon?"

She nodded, still visibly guilty. "I called on them and asked them to arrive a little later. Since you were the one who came at his side, I thought it best that you learn first."

"Thy consideration does thee credit." Collecting himself, he nodded and slid his goggles back into place. "I shall stand to support thee, then; it will put them at ease with his choice to transfer his legacy into thy hands."

Minfilia smiled at him, this time with genuine gratitude despite the lingering sadness in her eyes. "Thank you, Urianger. I mean to prove that trust well-placed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be one piece of a five-and-one fic I have outlined.
> 
> I'm fascinated by Louisoix, as a character who has become a legend and as a very good mentor who did the best he could for his students, and who sometimes hurt them anyway by making the best of several bad choices when there just weren't any good ones.


	14. Lucubration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost pure dialogue of Thancred, Moenbryda, and Urianger doing homework in Sharlayan.

"Do you think it's possible to die of boredom?"

"Thancred."

"I'm serious! I could write my aetherology essay on the effects of...of stress combined with, hm, insufficient…" A snort. "...No, never mind, I can't think of a way to end that sentence that doesn't sound like innuendo."

"If thou wouldst apply thyself to thy writing with as much vigor as thy prattling, all of our work shall be concluded far sooner."

"Oh, lighten up, Uri. He's got a point - this history assignment really isn't relevant to _anything_."

"See, Moenbryda agrees with me. Our professor may be unduly fascinated by the intricacies of trade law from the Fifth Astral Era, but none of these city-states even exist anymore!"

"It hath been well-established in the previous readings that Mhachi trade agreements were greatly influential upon the founding of Belah'dia, and thus transferred that influence unto Ul'dah and Sil'dih upon the division of-"

"Sure, sure, but then Ul'dah reduced Sil'dih to rubble, and since then the Syndicate's rewritten every law at least twice over. Don't look at me in that tone, I do the readings. That's why I'm dying of boredom."

"Uri's right too, though- the sooner you stop yammering on, the sooner we can all be over and done with this. How many pages do you have?"

A heavy sigh. "Five, but you know the professor will only count them as two and a half with my handwriting."

"I still believe thou shouldst request intervention from Master Louisoix on that matter. Thy script hath improved immensely over these past months, there is no more reason why thine efforts should qualify any less than our own."

"She hates me enough as it is, I'm not going to make Master Louisoix pull rank on her. ... _But_ I wouldn't say no if my two best friends in the world let me crib some of their notes. For the sake of getting away at a half-decent bell?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I needed a light-hearted breather after that last one.


	15. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem and Thancred talk about the way forward.

"Mind some company?"

Thancred turned from his gunblade maintenance to smile back at the pleasant-faced Miqo'te who had approached his table. "By all means. Something on your mind?"

"A bit." Mayhem settled into one of the other chairs and pulled out a panpipe, working at the surfaces a bit with a cleaning cloth. It was funny, Thancred thought, how well their communication styles meshed. They both knew being a bard was about more than knowing songs and stories: Mayhem had an eye for reading their audience, and conveying tone deliberately through body language.

 _I want to have a sincere talk, but it's fine if you need to back away or take your time about it,_ was what they were conveying now, and better yet, Thancred knew they knew he would understand the nonverbal communication clearly in a way others might not. He turned back to his own maintenance work, keeping his expression pleasant and slightly distracted. _Sure, let's hear it._

"Mostly I was just thinking how strange it must be for you, waking up right where you were after so long," they continued as if there hadn't been a pause. "You saw more than the others, didn't you?" They shrugged, glanced up from their work, went back to it at the same half-idle pace. "Not just because you were there longer, but because you kept traveling and didn't settle… I can't really imagine what it must be like."

Ah, so that was the rest of it. _If talking won't help, brush it off and I'll let it be, but the door's open._ Mayhem was a gentle soul at heart, and he knew he'd worried them in the past with things he couldn't figure out how to say.

Maybe talking wouldn't be so bad. "You're not wrong," Thancred admitted with a slow exhale. "...Honestly, I don't know how it feels yet, either. It's very...disjointed, picking up where I left off here. Sometimes I feel like I never left at all, and then it all comes crashing back in...sometimes I feel like I've been gone for five years, and it's strange that nothing's changed." He stared wistfully into a reflective surface on the blade of his weapon, nearly identical to the one he'd left behind with Ryne. _Sometimes I turn to look behind me and there's this empty space where she should be, and I don't know whether to be proud or upset._ "...I guess I'm just taking it one day at a time."

Mayhem nodded, tilting their head and the panpipe to examine inside one of the holes. "That's probably for the best," they agreed. "...Do you want to go back to the way things were, do you think? Or would you rather carry on the way you did on the First?"

"I don't think I can do either," Thancred answered almost immediately, and something seemed to tighten and loosen in his chest as he said it, like a knot being unraveled. _Oh._ "...So much of what I did on the First was wrapped around being a guardian, and I've finished with playing that part now." He shrugged helplessly. "But I want to keep that sense of...purpose, I suppose. I'm still finding my way toward some middle ground. I need to pick up my life here without letting those years...evaporate, like some strange dream. That's what I want."

"Okay." Mayhem grinned at him, eyes lighting up cheerfully. _You were hoping I'd say that. You could push a little more, you know._ But he knew they never would: if there was one thing Mayhem had always been clear about, it was letting people choose their own paths, even if it meant making mistakes. "I think that's a good place to aim for. Let me know if I can help."


	16. Panglossian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger isn't all that surprised to find that Alisaie is being punished for mouthing off.

"...Pray tell, what hath precipitated this turn of events?"

Louisoix had told Urianger that Alphinaud and Alisaie were in the manor's study, but hadn't offered any additional explanation; assuming they were engaged in homework, Urianger hadn't thought to inquire further. Naturally, he was somewhat aghast to discover that while Alphinaud was deeply absorbed in a book, his favorite stuffed carbuncle at his side, Alisaie was busily engaged at the room's chalkboard, tracing out lines of text one furious stroke after another: "I will demonstrate proper respect to elder scholars."

"Father says she has to," Alphinaud said without looking up from his book.

Alisaie turned to look at him briefly, made a rather feral sound of incoherent frustration, and returned to her angry marking. Urianger winced slightly at the forceful sound of chalk hitting slate over and over.

He decided engaging Alphinaud in conversation would be more productive for the moment. "I must presume then that she hath offered some grand impertinence to one of her elders?" It wouldn't be the first time, although he hadn't heard of this punishment being offered for it before now. The board itself was nearly twice the girl's height all told, and he assumed the chair beside it was how she'd reached to fill the upper corners.

Alphinaud nodded, turning a page. "Professor Feauviere told her that the Garleans invading Eorzea are in the service of a greater good. Because the Twelve have built for us a perfect world, therefore it stands to reason that any so-called 'evil' is just a good we can't understand."

"It's poppycock!" Alisaie burst out, unable to restrain her temper anymore. "If the world is already as good as it can be, then why even do anything at all?!"

"Have a care to mind thy language, Mistress Alisaie," Urianger replied mildly. "I imagine then that thou didst demonstrate no greater restraint toward the visage of one of Sharlayan's most renowned philosophy professors."

"Father told her she doesn't have to agree, but she does have to hold her tongue until she has enough education to speak," Alphinaud agreed.

"I don't need any more education than I have to see when someone's being stupid," Alisaie grumbled, turning back to her work.

"...So then he told her she couldn't play until she'd filled that blackboard," Alphinaud concluded.

"To think I once believed the pair of thee would cease to test mine endurance once thou wert grown enough to negotiate with," Urianger mused, shaking his head. "Very well, then. I shall not gainsay thine illustrious father's will." He tilted his head, turning deliberately away from the board. "Master Alphinaud, 'tis quite a sizable tome thou hast chosen; wouldst thou not rather I save thee the encumbrance, and instead read to thee from it aloud?"

Alphinaud grinned, and from the corner of his eye, Urianger could see Alisaie relax just a little as well. "I should like nothing better."

With Alphinaud eagerly settled beside him, the tension drained from the room little by little as Urianger's best reading voice filled it instead; midway through the story, he found a much less frustrated Alisaie joining them on his other side, the last corner of the board finally having been filled with lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me about philosophy, I _dare_ you.


	17. Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the starry sky, Thancred and Urianger discuss what the journey’s end means for their relationship.

Up to the upper reaches of Revenant's Toll. The outpost never truly slept, adventurers not being the sort of people to keep ordinary hours, but it was far quieter this late at night. Thancred scanned the rooftops and walkways until he saw what he was looking for: Urianger was dimly silhouetted against the starry sky, perched as high as he could get, staring thoughtfully upward, idly turning his cards in his hands.

He sauntered over unhurriedly, careful not to disturb the quiet. He knew the Elezen had most likely come up here to be alone, but Urianger had informed him once, back on the First, that his presence didn't quite count toward breaking solitude. He hoped that would still hold.

Urianger tilted his head to smile softly at him as he approached, and he sat down beside the taller man, a little relieved at the confirmation that he wasn't unwelcome. He waited in calm until Urianger's gaze had turned back toward the sky, and found himself turning to follow it as well: the stars glittered low and bright, blazing like jewels just out of reach, here where no city was bright enough to drown them in its own light.

"Are they the same?" he asked finally, a conversational murmur into the darkness. Urianger gave him a questioning look, and he elaborated. "As on the First, I mean. ...I didn't really take the time to look that closely after the night fell, I guess. Though I don't know why it never occurred to me to ask before then, you must have known the answer even when they were out of view."

Urianger smiled at him warmly before his gaze drifted away again. "They are," he nodded. "I know not whether the sky itself could not be sundered, or 'tis merely that each sundered shard began identical to the others, and here to our Source as well, for the result would be the same: no effort of any mortal known hath yet the slightest effect upon the path of the heavens in their cycles. They continue their dance, despite us and without us, though we be drawn along with them nonetheless."

"I see you're in a fine mood," Thancred laughed quietly, and it felt good. He hesitated, drew a deeper breath, and shifted just a fraction of an ilm closer, toward the heat of Urianger's body. "...And are we the same?" he breathed. It had only been a week or so since their return, most of it spent recovering from the strain on their bodies, and in a place busier than they'd grown used to they simply hadn't had time yet to discuss the developments in their relationship that had come about in the years unique to them.

Urianger didn't move away; Thancred thought, rather, that he leaned into the contact, but he might have been imagining it. "No man remaineth the same creature from one morn to the next," he intoned thoughtfully, not so much toward Thancred as into the night that surrounded them. "...Yet though our place be different, our lives resumed, I do not see that we must give up the parts we have chosen to play. Thou wilt continue to roam in service of our mission, no doubt, and I shall remain here to welcome thee." His gaze dropped from the sky to the cards he'd continued shuffling throughout the conversation, and he flipped over the top one, only to make a slight sound at the revelation. "The Spear, reversed," he murmured, almost reverently, and handed the card to Thancred as if it was an offering.

Thancred took it, staring at the upside-down drawing of a fierce woman wielding an icy spear. "It's Halone, isn't it? The hunter exacting retribution? The Spear refers to her weapon, I remember that much." He couldn't see how that was relevant.

"Thou art correct," Urianger agreed, "yet the reversal doth alter the meaning. With her spear pointed downward, she doth turn to apply its point to substances more solid than flesh. Dost thou see the palace behind?" He leaned over, further into Thancred's personal space, to trace one long fingertip over the card's background, from the shining moon toward what Thancred could now see was indeed a fine palace. "Turned thus away from her foes, Halone's spear doth instead carve Menphina's moonbeams into a shelter fit for kings. It is an omen of safe harbor, and of lasting affection."

Thancred couldn't tell if it was the words or the proximity, but the spell of Urianger's presence was certainly working on him: he felt warmed from within and without, engulfed in comfort he had no desire to reject. He did, however, poke Urianger playfully in the side with a fingertip, not hard enough to encourage him to move away. "You can't just say things outright, can you? How long did it take you to learn how to do that on command?"

Urianger sat up a little straighter, brows arched in mock affront. "'Tis an _omen_ ," he insisted, and Thancred knew few would be able to read his widened eyes and gentle pout as theatrics rather than sincerity. "I should not profane the call of destiny with such parlor tricks!"

"Oh, of course not. The sleight of hand you engage in on the battlefield to provide us with the right combination of powers and seals is nothing of the sort, then?" Thancred laughed, and wrapped an arm around Urianger's waist, leaning firmly into his side now. "I love you, too, you melodramatic fool."


	18. Foible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxima pyr Priscus, freshly come from his mother’s funeral, contemplates his response to a letter.

Sincerity was a weakness in Garlemald. Maxima had learned that from a young age, but it had never before been driven home so profoundly as in the last few weeks.

He'd returned from his mother's funeral to a letter from one of her friends - one engaged in politics considered subversive and detrimental. Nothing was laid out in so many words, of course, but they both knew the underlying truth: like his father before her, Maxima's mother had met an untimely end under unlikely circumstances. She had been too effective in her work, and had been silenced.

Maxima knew his history. The struggles of his people to survive against the long winters of Ilsabard had not yet passed from living memory, their rise from a struggling Republic to a booming Empire absolutely precipitous. Life was better than it had ever been, and they were still growing - but things were not improving evenly. Terrible stories filtered in from the provinces, and he'd been able to confirm a few of them with his own eyes. The fervent delight in their newfound ingenuity, the unstinting reverence for the Emperor who had brought them up from the dust...these things might well be warranted, but they were also becoming excuses for atrocity.

Wasn't an Empire stronger if all of its people thrived, even the conquered ones? Maxima's parents had thought so, and they'd instilled the same belief in him. He had to imagine it to be the case. But his people had been driven to this cold land from necessity, and now thrilled by their sudden rise to power, it was treated as disloyalty to even consider lending compassion to those who once would have cast them out in disdain.

They claimed to value logic and reason, to want to put the strongest in power, but much of the Empire was driven by spite and a desire to feel superior for once. And pointing out the hypocrisy would only get one branded as suspicious at best, treasonous at worst. Doing their best to shape the Empire into a place where all could thrive, where their bright future continued to trend upward in future generations, had gotten Maxima's parents killed. Sincerity was a weakness.

Maxima stared at the letter on his desk, turning his father's glasses over in his hands as he thought. The letter went on to express condolences, and an understanding that if, at last, this loss was too much, none would blame him if he decided to step away. He considered it: without his parents' influence to push him along the path, he could slip into relative obscurity. Do his duty as an Imperial officer, settle down and marry some woman of appropriate station and start his own family.

There would still be whispers, of course, about the views he'd once held, who his parents had been - but they would remain whispers, and the eyes he could feel on the back of his neck whenever he went out would fade away in time. He could live quietly, pretend not to see the delusions that surrounded him, drown his conscience in trusting his superiors to handle their nation's future.

He could see the path laid out before him: a thousand tiny compromises, his tendency toward idealism rendered toothless, a harmless quirk that emerged when he'd had a few drinks too many and began expounding upon philosophy, quietly ushered away by his gentle, forbearing wife before his words could reach the wrong ears. His peers would chuckle indulgently and give each other knowing looks, and keep the matter to themselves. As long as he never did anything important, it wouldn't matter what his beliefs were.

Settling the spectacles back onto his face, he picked up his quill and began to pen a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have many emotions about the Empire, most of them still barely touched upon.


	19. Argy-bargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one’s sure when Thancred’s nameday actually is, but that’s not the most surprising reveal of the morning.

"I'm certain I heard him say it was the fourteenth sun of the first umbral moon, though!"

"Nonsense. Menphina's moon? That's something he'd have told one of those girls to seem more dashing. It was the 24th of Oschon, I'm almost positive."

Emerging from his bedroom in the Rising Stones, Thancred paused in the process of closing his bedroom door to watch Tataru and F'lhaminn arguing in the hallway. "Good morning, ladies," he greeted them. "Having some difficulty?"

"There you are! Up late this morning, aren't you?" Tataru bulled on without waiting for his answer. "We're trying to set up the events calendar for the Scions, so we know what to plan for festivals and such."

"Tataru had the lovely idea of including everyone's namedays on the calendar as well," F'lhaminn agreed.

"But whoever we ask about _your_ nameday, we get a different answer!" Tataru finished, pointing an accusing finger at him which might have been slightly menacing had it been able to reach closer to his face. "So when is it?!"

Thancred cleared his throat and glanced away, rubbing at the back of his head. "To be perfectly honest? I haven't the faintest. I didn't exactly have a family to tell me in the early years when it mattered, you know."

"...Oh." Tataru and F'lhaminn glanced at each other, apparently not having anticipated this answer. Tataru rallied her enthusiasm first. "You mean you never picked one out when you got older?"

"There were a few celebrations back in my school days," Thancred allowed. "I don't quite recall the date they picked, though - it's been a long time since I thought to bother."

"The tenth sun of the fifth umbral," a low voice came from behind him, and Thancred started, then blushed visibly. A moment later, Urianger appeared in the doorway where the door still lingered half-ajar, hair tousled with sleep. "The day Master Louisoix encountered thee and gave thy surname was the day we chose to celebrate, for nameday it could still be called."

"Really?" Thancred burst out, visibly annoyed. "We could have had a day or two to work out how we wanted them to find out - you're really just going to throw this straight into the rumor mill?"

Urianger blinked at him once, confused, and then his brow furrowed. "If thou wished to keep a secret, I ought to have crept from thy chambers in the dead of night. I judged it unlikely that my emergence from thy private quarters would go unnoticed at any other time."

Glancing between the two of them, Tataru giggled and grabbed at F'lhaminn's sleeve, quickly retreating from the others' rising tempers. "Thanks for the information, Urianger! We'll get it added to the calendar right away!"


	20. Shuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem is interested in card divination.

It was a fine evening at the Crystarium, and Urianger was enjoying the hum of activity through the market square, from the vantage point of a cafe table a little bit out of the main push of traffic. He saw Mayhem coming before they spotted him, and nodded wisely at the bard's approach.

"Good evening, my friend," he greeted them with a smile, gesturing to another chair. "If thou hast come to speak, wilt thou not take thine ease? I hope naught else of urgency hath raised its head to break the evening's grace."

Mayhem smiled and shook their head, happily settling into the offered chair. "Nah, everything's quiet for now. I was looking for you, though. I've been meaning to ask - I know about the cards you use in battle, but the whole deck can be used for divination too, can't it?"

Urianger nodded. "It can indeed. The major arcana, aligned to the heavens, art considered the most powerful and recognizable; most divination is performed using them alone, particularly in the heat of battle where fates may turn with such speed. Yet if one doth desire a more nuanced interpretation of fate, 'tis quite possible to read with the entirety of the same deck of sixty employed in games of chance." Smiling, he pulled out his cards, first the major arcana he normally used in battle, and then from a side pouch the remainder of the deck. "Wouldst thou care for a demonstration? Combining them will take but a moment."

"If you wouldn't mind!" Mayhem's tail lashed eagerly behind them, and their ears wiggled with excitement. "I admit I've never been the most devout person, but it's such an interesting practice."

"I should be delighted." The cards were already flitting through Urianger's hands with practiced ease. Once he deemed them sufficiently reordered, he set the deck down and began to draw. "For simplicity's sake, our demonstration shall be the Trinity," he explained as he laid out three cards face down. "One card to illuminate thy past, one to indicate thy present condition, and one to divine thy future." He flipped the first. "The fourth of irons." The card showed a woman in manacles, running from a whip that lashed at her feet toward an open doorway, which showed an empty cell behind it. "Here thou canst see, she doth flee from torment into solace, though solace be a cage. Indeed, unless I recall incorrectly, thou hadst few companions before joining the ranks of the Scions." He shook his head, noting the way Mayhem's ears lowered as well. "Betimes solitude may be easier to endure than lashes."

The next card revealed a far more pleasant scene, a well-attended Bonding ceremony. The young lovers held one cup between them, ready to drink from it; four more were scattered about the table for the guests who cheered them onward. "Ahh, the fifth of cups. A joyful communion of souls, finding one another and affirming the bonds betwixt them. Yet 'tis not the completion of the suit, just as the binding shown is not the end some might suppose it, but a vow of perseverance. This joy and community will persist so long as all continue to maintain it in unison."

And finally the last was turned, to reveal the Ewer, the familiar sight of Thaliak pouring out a river from his mighty jug. "And the Ewer, upright. A fine omen indeed: a flowing bounty of life and of knowledge, springing forth by the will of Thaliak, guided and shaped by Nymeia. Doubtless thou wilt continue to be blessed with the knowledge and power thou dost need most; as the Ewer ruleth over the element of water, thou shouldst trust to thine intuition to access them."

He tapped the first card with a long finger, and then the second. "Indeed, this spread indicateth a thawing like unto springtide: for irons are ruled by ice, yet the other two cards are of water. Thou art freed now from the stifling of the past, and coming fully into thy strength and grace."

"That's certainly heartening," Mayhem agreed, eyes wide and ears perked with wonderment and sincere interest. "And fascinating! I think I see how it works - you have to take into account the images, elements, numerology, and the deities among the Twelve that rule over the suit, and how all those interact with each other, so each card has a lot of versatility, while still keeping a consistent meaning."

"Just so! Thou wert ever a quick study," Urianger smiled back. "Yet pray tell, what hath caught thine interest so regarding the lesser arcana?"

"Ah, well. It was just a convenient time to ask, since we have a little time off," Mayhem admitted. "Before I knew any of you, before the Calamity, I traveled as a mercenary for a bit, right? We played card games a lot, and on one trip, one of the others I was with had a deck like that - not just suits and pips, but full artwork on every card, each one seeming to carry a bit of a story with it. It stuck with me, so I remembered other bits and pieces I picked up as I kept traveling, how that kind of deck was used for fortunetelling and all. Wasn't sure I'd ever actually have the chance to stop and talk to an expert about it, but," a lighthearted shrug and flick of the tail, "here we are."

"Here we are, indeed." Urianger swept up the cards, and began sorting through the deck again to retrieve the rest of the major arcana. "If thou hast further need of lessons in the future, I am ever at thy service."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew actual tarot cards for this, and then interpreted their meanings liberally to convert them to the Eorzean Deck of Sixty, because I am an incurable showoff.


	21. Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem smiles a lot.

Mayhem had the soul of a performer, and they smiled a lot. They smiled to encourage, and to reassure, to help others feel like things were under control (even when they weren't). They smiled when they were sad, to prove that they would heal and recover.

(Once, they smiled when asked, even though their heart was shattering to pieces.)

It wasn't that any of these smiles were false, exactly. They all had a purpose, all sent a heartfelt message in one way or another. It could take a person a long time, though, to see Mayhem smile out of pure joy. To see them at play, perhaps, a board game with tail lashing in thought, or cheerful verbal sparring, words and tongue as sharp as their fangs.

There were two people, now, whose very presence made Mayhem's smile light up with pure delight, and those people didn't know each other. Now that they were on the same world, the next task would be to fix that.


	22. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two young scholars of Sharlayan, and their dreams of the future.

They lay on the grass on a hillside outside the walls, flowers waving in the breeze around them, staring up at the arching sky above and tracing out futures among the stars.

"You'll see. I'll crack the last code on the old Allagan tech and start improving on the aetheryte network myself," she was saying. "We're not going to keep lagging behind the ancients forever! And once I've done that, they'll have no choice but to let me on the Forum before I'm forty. I'll give those old geezers a run for their money." She grinned and turned to her companion. "What about you? Gonna keep at those books until they rethink letting you into the astrologian track?"

"Perhaps," he allowed with a faint sigh. His grades were more than acceptable to have been admitted to the course, but they had turned him down on a technicality that he was sure had less to do with his ability and far more to do with the unpopularity of their master's ideals. He thought about their master's enduring passion for his work, that spurred him ever onward despite the constant disapproval of his peers; of the grandchildren he had recently taken to minding on his master's behalf, ever energetic and full of pure wonder and curiosity; of his peers, the girl who lay beside him in the grass and the boy their master had brought back from Limsa who was still learning manners, Matoya's apprentice who was learning her own master's sharp tongue, the girls Papalymo had sponsored into the Studium's halls from the colony.

"I am not so ambitious as thee," he conceded. "I do not desire renown, and to have the eyes of the Forum upon me would be more disquieting than affirming. ...It would be enough, I deem, to possess the strength and wisdom to support thee in thine endeavors, and all our peers besides, that none of us may ever need stand alone or apart. The path of the astrologian would certainly aid me in such an endeavor, but it is not the only road I may travel to that destination." He turned and smiled softly back at her. "Thine affections are far more precious than all the accolades scholars past or present could offer."

"It's a deal, then," she grinned. "We'll always take care of each other, no matter what the world throws our way."

Ten years later, staring up at the constellations visible from Eorzea instead, he sighed. The red moon hung low and menacing despite all his attempts to look past it. Almost reflexively, he tapped at his linkpearl, willing it to connect.

She didn't answer. She hadn't since he left.

"I pray thou wilt understand one day," he murmured to the wide, uncaring sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> careful the wish you make  
> wishes are children  
> careful the path they take  
> wishes come true  
> not free


	23. When Pigs Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bookman’s Shelves has a guest.

The first day Thancred woke up no longer in pain from his recent injury, he considered telling Minfilia to pack her bags. Not out of ingratitude, or even any particular desire to leave Urianger's home, but they'd spent longer here in Il Mheg than he was used to staying in any one place, and leading Eulmore to Urianger's doorstep would also be poor repayment. He looked out the window of his bedroom at the swaying fields of flowers, so lovely and peaceful even under the perpetual gleam of the sky, though, and decided another day or two wouldn't hurt. He hadn't really had time to help Urianger with the usual chores, and they had no sign that Eulmore was actually anywhere near finding out where they'd gone. Besides, if they were going to linger overlong anywhere, Il Mheg was the place to do it.

As he watched the landscape, something round and pink bobbed past his window. He had the impression of a snout, a curly tail, some sort of lazily flapping wings? and then it was gone.

Maybe this place had him seeing things.

He rose to dress quickly, eager to set about a day where Urianger no longer had any reason to lecture him back into bed over his injuries, and he had just finished pulling on his shirt when he heard Minfilia cry out in surprise. Grabbing his weapon, he dashed down the hall. It might be nothing, but there was no harm in being cautious, especially when they really should have left a few days ago.

Minfilia was staring uncertainly at another of the pink things - or perhaps the same from before, it wasn't as if Thancred could tell - which hovered silently in midair before her. Thancred slowly lowered his gunblade at the sight of it - it didn't seem very threatening, and even if it was, shooting it in Urianger's living room might not be the best solution. Instead, he moved to stand between them, eyeing the odd creature with cautious skepticism.

Now that he could get a better look, it was definitely generally pig-shaped, with a snout and curly tail and four legs of dubious usefulness tucked against its belly. It was hovering by flapping its huge, wing-shaped ears, and the black eyes watching them from above the snout held no particular malice. It really didn't seem menacing, so much as just...weird. "Did it hurt you?" he asked Minfilia.

She shook her head quickly. "No...no, I was just surprised. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I was already up." He raised an eyebrow and addressed the pink thing. "Any chance you can understand me? What are you doing here?"

The pig creature didn't respond, but Urianger now wandered in from the kitchen, having overheard the drama. "Thou art awake! I am nearly done preparing-" He stopped at the sight of the creature, and beamed brightly. "Ah, but we have a visitor!"

"You know what this is?" Thancred relaxed a little further. If Urianger recognized the thing and wasn't upset by its being here, it was probably fine.

"Indeed I do. 'Tis a porxie, a familiar of the Nu Mou who dwell among the cliffs to the north of the lake, undoubtedly sent ahead of its master to seek a meeting." Urianger approached the porxie and bowed once, as cheerful as Thancred had ever seen him.

"It didn't seem to understand us," Thancred pointed out. "Not much of a messenger."

"On the contrary. A familiar such as this might well have difficulty discerning one mortal from the next; teaching it only the language of the fae rather ensures that only upon meeting with one knowledgeable in their ways can its duty be discharged." And then he spoke to the thing in the lilting tongue of the faeries, while Thancred and Minfilia glanced at each other.

To their surprise, it responded in kind, in a soft and childish voice. Once they'd exchanged a few rounds of dialogue, the porxie did a happy loop in the air and fluttered off again; Urianger watched it go, radiating satisfaction.

"All right, and what was that about?" Thancred asked once it had gone.

Urianger turned to them and actually grinned. "Hast thou ever heard tell of a faerie market?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt finally shook some stuff loose, so this scene, perspective-flipped to Urianger, will be the start of the next chapter of With Time To Bloom. Look forward to it!


	24. Irenic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem and Aymeric discuss the disposition of former heretics.

"You can't just keep them out."

Aymeric remained steadily focused on his paperwork. "While I agree that Ishgard should house them, the debate on exactly what accommodations should be made continues."

"I could just open the gates myself and let them into the Firmament. There's still plenty of empty houses there."

"The Church would have me removed from office for condoning rebellion."

"You could disavow any knowledge. I chose my name for a reason, after all." Mayhem's tail swished behind them, still leaning against Aymeric's desk.

"Nonetheless, there isn't a soul in Ishgard that would believe I was not aiding you, my love."

A slight huff. "I helped build that place, I ought to have some say in how it's used."

"As I understand it, you laid some foundation stones and then spent the rest of your time there singing and telling stories."

"...Okay, fine, yeah. I don't know how people do that kind of work all day. Keeping their spirits up is important!"

"The answer is still no." Aymeric finally put his papers down, and leaned up to kiss Mayhem with a smile. "I swear to you, I will not let Ysayle's people starve in the winter snows. Reconciliation was always going to be a long process."

"I know." Mayhem flopped into a nearby armchair. "They're lucky to have you. I really have no idea how you manage all of this politics stuff; I always want to tell them exactly who they are, right to their faces."

Aymeric grinned slightly. "One day, darling, I would dearly love to see that. But not yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITP: I don't actually have the patience to grind the Firmament.


	25. Paternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minfilia is down with a fever, and her dads are worried.

Urianger fussed with the herbal concoction he'd created for a little longer before sighing and admitting to himself that he'd gotten it as right as possible. He'd measured all the components three times over, and the smell it gave off was bracingly strong but not unpleasant. Carefully, he picked up the bowl and carried it down the hall toward Minfilia's room.

As he approached, he was surprised to hear quiet singing floating down the hall. It had been a very long time since he'd heard Thancred sing, not since their days at the Studium together. And when he got closer, he remembered the reason why: despite years of careful study to conceal all trace of the accent he'd first arrived to Sharlayan with, it still filtered through when he sang, betraying his origins on the docks of Limsa Lominsa.

"Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, blow the wind south o'er the bonnie blue sea," the words drifted through the open door, a lilting lullaby. "Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, blow bonnie breeze, my true lover to me."

Urianger hovered in the doorway for a moment, watching Thancred at the girl's bedside as he turned over the damp cloth laid across her forehead. Her breathing sounded perhaps a little labored, but even: the grip of the fever had her sleeping deeply. "They told me last night there were ships in the offing, and I hurried down to the deep rolling sea," Thancred continued singing quietly, gently brushing sweat-damp hair away from her face. "But my eye could not see it, wherever might be it, the bark that is bearing my lover to me..."

Soft as a whisper, Urianger glided into the room, doing his best not to disturb either of them. Thancred turned to acknowledge his presence, and raised an eyebrow at the dish. Tilting the bowl, Urianger poured out the contents into a simple diffuser dish, and lit the candle underneath to keep the mixture warm. "The herbs will aid in opening her airways," he explained in a low voice as Thancred wrinkled his nose slightly. "The scent must be pungent to achieve the necessary effect. In addition, I have sorted out a tea to prepare later, which will serve to lower her fever."

"Shouldn't we give that now? She's burning up." Though he had stopped singing, with his voice held so low Urianger thought he could still pick out a few lingering traces of that old accent in Thancred's speech. He leaned forward to wake the girl, and Urianger stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Nay," he shook his head. "I should rather allow her to rest while she is able, and give the herbs time to soothe her cough and throat, that she may partake of food and drink more easily when she doth waken naturally. She is a healthy young woman, and this illness is not a critical one." Seeing that Thancred's worried expression hadn't eased off, he added, "Many children of her age fall thusly ill each year, and recover in good time."

Thancred's eyes drifted closed for a moment, his face pinched with memory, and to Urianger's surprise he leaned into the hand on his shoulder. "Many children who _receive proper treatment_ ," he murmured, with an ache of old grief and long-faded bitterness coloring his tone.

Momentarily taken aback by this response, Urianger could only swallow hard and nod, squeezing Thancred's shoulder a little more firmly. "I am sorry, Thancred," he responded after a long pause, picking his way through the words slowly. "I had not considered…" Thancred's past, living in the open, subject to wind and storm and wave...of course he had seen other children fall ill and fade away from it. "I swear to thee, she will not be taken thus. It will run its course, or else I will seek still more dramatic measures."

"I know." Thancred sighed, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders, and then he chuckled slightly. "And far be it from me to direct _you_ toward additional dramatics. ...She'll be fine. We just have to wait it out."

He didn't move away from Urianger's touch, though, so they waited there together for a while, just listening to the sound of Minfilia continuing to breathe, soft and slow and steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will also be incorporated into WTTB eventually. Contains my favorite headcanon for why Thancred is a 'bard' that doesn't sing.


	26. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhem is having trouble with the Light, and Ardbert helps.

They hadn't guessed what it would be like. It had taken until the second Lightwarden for Mayhem to even question what they were doing with the Light - the first, it had looked like the Light had been cast off somehow, and they hadn't felt any different. But they'd thought about it after Titania, and realized that casting the Light off into the world wouldn't solve the problem of aether imbalance, and channeling it back through their connection to the Source would only make everything worse. Y'shtola's reaction to their arrival had only confirmed what they'd already begun to guess: the Light was being absorbed and contained, not cast off at all.

They'd meant to pull her aside and ask in private if that was healthy; they decided against it after overhearing her discussing with Urianger how very much it was not.

Back then, they hadn't felt much different. A little stiffness, perhaps, easily brushed off as poor sleep or exertion. Now, after slaying the fourth Lightwarden, they couldn't help but to feel it constantly. It didn't hurt, exactly, but every movement came with phantom sensations like something cracking or splitting, as if they could move a joint so far that the limb it was attached to would just drop off, insensate. Perhaps if it did, they could pick it up and put it back on. They grimaced at the image. Staying still was worse, though: lying or even sitting still, they would quickly begin to feel numb all over, a statue at rest, breathing shallowly and wondering if their limbs would still respond to the call.

It made getting rest difficult: every few minutes, they were overcome with the half-panicked urge to move, just to prove that they still could. And naturally, their friendly neighborhood ghost had noticed.

Ardbert appeared sitting near the foot of the bed, a slightly luminous outline in the dark room. "You're awfully twitchy tonight," he offered quietly. "Is it just nerves getting to you, or…?"

Mayhem sighed and sat up, shivering a bit at the brief certainty that they were going to crack and split at the joints. "It's the Light," they confessed softly. "It doesn't hurt, I just...everything is so still. When I stop moving, I feel...dead. I hate it."

Biting his lip slightly, Ardbert nodded. "I guess that makes sense. That's what the Light is, isn't it? An unnatural stillness." He reached out a hand, palm up. "When you touched my hand before, you recovered enough to keep control. If you want to, we can test if that keeps working for this, too."

Hesitantly, not wanting to overwhelm or overburden their companion, Mayhem reached out and placed their hand in Ardbert's. It felt warm, solid and real, and there was something deeply reassuring about the life in it, despite its owner's otherwise incorporeal nature. "I don't know why I'm the only one who can touch you," they marveled.

"Me either. But if it helps…" Ardbert colored slightly and looked away, an endearing gesture that Mayhem found themself surprisingly able to see and recognize even in the low light.

"It does. Thank you." They curled their fingers tighter around Ardbert's, and looked him over thoughtfully. "...Would you, um...you could come closer. Stay, just for the night. Nothing sordid, I'm too worn out to seduce you, but...well, touching you helps me feel more alive, and...and a hundred years is much too long to go without being hugged."

Ardbert opened his mouth, closed it again, realizing he couldn't argue and perhaps that he didn't really want to. Looking down at himself in his armor, he seemed to focus for a second, and then his body shimmered into a loose shirt and simple trousers, much more comfortable for sleeping. "I guess I don't have to be embarrassed if we're the only ones who will ever know, huh?" And without further complaint, he crawled into the bed beside Mayhem, curling up beside and around the Miqo'te's smaller frame. "How's this?"

He was soft to the touch, and his chest moved as though breathing even though he was long dead. Mayhem was wrapped in warmth, and if they focused they could feel the memory of a pulse still somehow beating inside Ardbert's chest. "Perfect," they murmured sleepily. The dreadful numb solidity still settled into their limbs, but with Ardbert supporting them, somehow it wasn't as complete or as frightening. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Ardbert whispered back, directly into one black-furred ear. He couldn't sleep, exactly, but he let his thoughts drift idly while Mayhem's breathing evened out at last, content to enjoy the first real sensation he'd been allowed since he'd been caught between life and death this way. Tomorrow would come all too soon, and bring them one step closer to the end of the road; but for tonight, the pair of them could have this comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell by the weird pacing how tired I was when I wrote this, but I don't know how to fix it without a complete rewrite, so up it goes as-is. ^^;
> 
> And that's the lot! Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration credit goes, as always, to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/skgmaxm)! If you would like to help enable, be enabled, participate in wholesome debauchery, or just generally talk about fic, please come join us!


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